[18+] ENEMIES TO LOVERS SPORTS ROMANCE.
*REWRITTEN*
°•°•°•°
Hannah Walker doesn't trust anyone, especially men.
They're manipulative and toxic - her lousy ex taught her that lesson well.
Enter Tristan Beckett, the embodiment of everything she despis...
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Hannah
We arrived in front of a sizable two-story house painted in faded grey and white. It had prominent Victorian influences, and surprisingly, wasn't as ugly as it should have been, considering a group of guys lived in it.
The front garden was teeming with clusters of college kids, busy sipping from red solo cups and cans of Budweiser. You could tell who the freshmen were immediately.
Freshmen always tended to overdress, not having learned yet that eventually, everyone valued comfort and casual style over looking perfect. No one wanted to do the walk of shame in last night's heels. That's precisely why my loose crew neck and dark leggings helped me blend right in.
"It's really busy," I noted, taking in our surroundings.
"The football house tends to always be busy. It's why I moved out. The lack of sleep, too much drinking, and constant partying were starting to affect my performance on the field." Tristan put the car in park, unclipping his and my seatbelt.
"Wait, you lived here?"
"For my first year, yeah. But like I said, I needed to leave if I was going to take football more seriously." He stepped out of the car. "Wait a sec, I'll open it."
I was confused until I realized he meant the door. And then I contemplated whether I wanted him to open the door for me. I noticed he was pretty consistent about it, but it felt strange and lazy on my part. Before I could settle on my stance, he opened the door. I decided to just go with it.
"Thanks," I said as I stepped out.
"You good?"
I nodded, looking around nervously.
"Great, let's go. We'll only stay a short while." He was already guiding us up the pavement.
People had already started to recognize him, pointing and staring as we walked up the pathway to the front door. A couple of people threw out congratulations, and Tristan grinned his thanks, nodding at them. I dropped my gaze when their eyes fell on me.
At the door, one of the guys spotted Tristan and his face lit up with a wide smile. "Dude, you were fucking awesome today. You and Mitchell absolutely killed it."
"Appreciated, man." They shared a quick, firm hug, each giving the other a hearty pat on the back.
"Want a drink? I can get you anything," the guy offered, holding up his beer.
"I'm good, thanks." Tristan looked at me, and I shook my head.
After a few more exchanged words, Tristan wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close. I considered protesting, worried about how it might look, but as we walked into the house, I quickly understood his reasoning.
The entire place was jam-packed with people. Bass-heavy music reverberated through the floors as the crowd danced, made out, and engaged in conversation. A guy even stood on a table, tossing cans of beer to those who called for them. The air was thick with the mingled scents of beer, sweat, and weed, creating a heady, almost overwhelming fog.
